


Epicenter

by glasgow_blue



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-25
Updated: 2004-08-25
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasgow_blue/pseuds/glasgow_blue





	

This is a Blue Plate Special for [](http://cloisonne.livejournal.com/profile)[**cloisonne**](http://cloisonne.livejournal.com/) : _candle, torc, glass, ice, shattering, someone in a blue funk_

Title: Epicenter  
Pairing: None, really. But there is Dom. And there is Viggo. And maybe some subtext. Kinda.  
Rating: R (for language only)  
Word Count: 570 (or so)  
Disclaimer: I. Am. Making. This. Shit. Up.  
Archive: Please ask.  
Crossposted to: [](http://fellow-shippers.livejournal.com/profile)[**fellow_shippers**](http://fellow-shippers.livejournal.com/) , [](http://viggodom.livejournal.com/profile)[**viggodom**](http://viggodom.livejournal.com/)

The house begins to shake and Dom is dreaming of the Mirkwood--of thick spider webs wrapped around his neck in a living torc, of inky greenness and a syncopated pulsing. The quake translates into his dreamscape as Shelob's children marching across woven silk and he knows he should be frightened; but they have brilliant blue stripes and jewel-faceted eyes and they are singing a beautiful song.

Viggo is there, too, sitting on a nearby branch sporting a mysterious smile. "Wake up, Dominic," he calls. "The sky is falling."

Dom bolts upright, but the web continues to shake. Viggo's words echo.

_The sky is falling. Sky is falling. Sky is falling._

And it comes into place neatly, quickly, all at once. Earthquake. Earth. Quake.

"Fuck!" He shouts, diving out of bed.

Dom hits the floor on top of the lamp from the bedside table and he hears it shatter before he feels the shards dig into his elbow.

"Fuck," he repeats.

This is not supposed to happen. It's called terra firma for a bloody reason. Stupid California dirt doesn't even have the common decency to stay put. No proper English soil would dream of pulling this shit. Fucking tectonic plates. Fucking Hollywood lifestyle. Fucking bastard Elijah who laughed when Dom confessed to being worried about living on a fault line.

Fucking ow.

"Fuck you," he says, addressing no one in particular.

Still, the house shakes.

Dom gets up and weaves across the floor, heading for the bathroom. He has a vague notion that you're supposed to get in the bathtub at times like these. Or is that tornado?

Fucking American natural disasters.

He lurches through the doorway, clutching wood for balance. Gets up close and personal with the tacky wallpaper he's been meaning to strip. Spills into the bathroom just as the tile ceases to dance beneath him.

The sky quits falling. It's over.

"Fuck."

He sinks to the floor and sucks in a deep breath; splays his hands wide on the tile and rests his forehead between them. Sirens wail, but Dom has no idea if they are real or imagined. He's not sure it matters at this point.

Ice. Ice for his bleeding elbow.

And candles--because the power goes out during these things, right?

Vodka. A nice big glass of it. Yep.

And his mum. Christ, but he wants his mum. And fuck you again, Wood, if you think that's a pussy thing to need when the earth's just betrayed you.

He stays that way for a long time--decades, at least--until he's sure that the ground isn't going to shift beneath him again. There is a small voice in the back of Dom's head whispering "aftershock"--Astin's voice, maybe--but he ignores it and crawls for the bedroom. And there, amidst the wreckage of his slumber, Dom finds a pristine sheet of paper.

It is a photo of him, taken by Viggo at a diner in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada. Dom is staring forlornly out the window, shading his eyes against the glare. One knee tucked up against his chin. One pot of miserably weak tea untouched at his elbow. Below, in a script that flows out from the teapot and roams across the page, Viggo wrote the title:

_Boy With a Blue Funk On_.

He wants his mum, but Viggo will do. Viggo can make sense of these things. Viggo has a way with Mother Earth. Viggo could have caught the sky.


End file.
